A Eucharistic Adoration group is being set up in Loughill/Ballyhahill parish at present. The proposed times are on Tuesday between 2 and 6pm  in Loughill and on Thursday between 10 and 2 pm in Ballyhahill. If anyone is interested please contact Fr O’Leary at 06982013.

On display, in Glin library this month, is a collection of local books by local authors. I would appreciate being reminded of any local authors which may not be included in the following list. So far there are books in the library by  the following.

Aherne, Tom: Curtin, Gerard; Dillane, Michael: Faley, Paddy: Kennelly and Carroll: Kennelly and Fitzmaurice: Langan, George: O’Cearbhaill, Pádraig: O’Shaughnessy, Dorrit: O’Sullivan, Jim: Prendeville, Peg: Scoil Naomh Mhuire Ballyhahill: Culhane, Thomas J: Culhane, Thomas F: Wall, Tom: Walshe, Margaret. Anyone is welcome to call in at any time during opening hours. The library will be closed this Thursday 30th January.

St Brigid’s Day (Saturday) is upon us already and the longer brighter evenings are most welcome. Many of us are talking about the “awful weather” which, I will agree, is not very pleasant these days but when we see the cold snap in eastern USA or the heavy rains in Northern Territory Australia or the scorching heat in Southern Australia we have nothing to complain about in comparison. The local rivers are in full flood these days. I composed the following poem last weekend after bringing one of my grandchildren to see the Abha Bhán down by the bridge in Ballyhahill. It explains itself.



Nature’s blessings

 I took her to the river

To show her the brown flood

Which was in an angry mood today

Full of debris, twigs and mud.

“Where is it going” she enquired

As she watched it tumbling through

The arches of the village bridge

“It’s in a hurry, that’s for sure!”


And as we both looked on in awe

My grandchild who’s nearly three

Looked up at me with questioning eyes

And unlocked a memory

Of almost sixty years before

When my father all excited

Asked “Do you want to see the river”

And of course I was delighted.


So he carried my sister and me too

In his strong and sinewy arms

And took us through the meadow

Through old George Lynch’s farm.

There at the foot of Knockadillaun

The brown water rushed on by.

To us it seemed a torrent

But was probably a foot wide!


And as I held my grandchild’s hand

I hoped that forever after

She’ll remember the excitement

And the power of moving water.

To me it was a sacred moment,

Too precious now to measure.

The resurrection of this memory is

A grace-filled gift that I will treasure.


Peg Prendeville